nothing matters
by leia samarium
Summary: i cant write summaries - basically take dawn's head after finding out she is the key, mix in dancing at the bronze, cute boy and alley and you have this little fic. please read and review:)


_Disclaimer: the characters are not mine, every bit of them belongs to joss and ME_

_Note: this takes place season 5 after dawn finds out she is the key. Events completely contradict those of 'all the way' so just pretend you haven't seen series 6 yet:P_

Nothing Matters

The dancefloor is packed. Couples intertwine, sexy dances sickening those around them; lusty glances are exchanged openly and furtively, eyes meet and begin manouvering closer through the crowds; unwanted attentions are avoided amongst the throng, hiding behind the moving bodies; insecurities are forgotten as dancing and laughing with friends takes over; every cliché and norm of teen life exists within the limits of the floor, everyone knowing they are an individual but thriving on the crowd, the unity. The music brings them together in a way they will never be together once they leave the floor, the cheerleaders, jocks, geeks, brains, loners, rebels, the girl dancing alone, in front of the speaker, her loneliness filling the room.

The bassline thrums through her body, she feel every vibration through every molecule of her body. The beat propels her, runs through her arms and sways her hips, her slender frame and fragile mind consumed by the energy the music infuses in her. She draws glances from both sexes, but the few that have approached her have not encroached upon her radar. She could be alone on the dancefloor, her surroundings do not matter, all that matters is forgetting, losing herself, finding some peace and belonging for the first time since she found out the truth. The truth about herself, her life, the truth about the lies they have told her, the truth about the lie that is her life.

The song finishes, but another begins straight away, the crowd has no time to stop, a few break off in search of water and refreshment, the majority continue, lost in their movements, none as lost as the girl.

It is near 11. She has been dancing for an hour and a half, but time does not matter. What does time matter to energy, what does anything matter? Certainly she does not. Sure the blob of energy is important, people have died for the energy. But she, dawn, what significance does she have? Her consciousness was crafted, made, her memories not experienced, her feelings planted in her – nothing in her head belongs to her or is real, so what does she matter?

A boy moves towards her, dancing, moving to the beat. He watches her move, her long dark hair falls down her back, bounces as she turns and sways. Her short top clings to her slender frame, a deep scar no more than a few days old runs up her inner arm, her skirt reveals the beginnings of long, pale legs, her face is a mixture of ecstacy and despair. He moves closer, he is next to her now, though she is not aware of his presence. For a minute he dances next to her, waiting for her to awaken to his presence. When she does not he slides a arm around her waist, draws her body close to him, and they move as one, as they intertwine they begin to draw jealous looks, before the onlookers lose interest, finding their own partners, distractions.

She lets out a short gasp as she feels another wrap round her, the contact is invasive but she craves it, she moves closer before opening her eyes to see the boy. She recognises him vaguely, not from their school but a nearby public school, not that it matters. His dark hair falls with a slight wave, framing a face with deep brown eyes, that look deep inside her. Can he see anything she wonders? Does he see the green glow? Did the monks plant the idea to come dance with her in him? He is slightly taller than her, she feels his toned chest beneath his black shirt, runs her hands up his arms, they are slightly muscular and feeling them around her, over her, sends shivers down her spine. Nothing matters to her, she does not matter, so what she does is not a risk, she takes his hand and leads him away from the dancefloor. 

Two people break away from the crowd, the girl leads the boy, they weave through the bronze and head for the door, their bodies still move in time with the music, the anticipation of each other flows through their veins. She draws him outside, the make their way into the alley that runs alongside the bronze. It is not cold but both shiver.

She knows it is unsafe. She knows about the monsters, the demons, the people that have died here, how can energy die? If this body goes the energy will continue, back to wherever it came from, before it was moulded into her. Nothing matters, she is nothing and is empty inside. She looks deep into the boy's eyes, she is leaning back against the wall, trying to force her fake, moulded form into what her fake, moulded thoughts tell her is a sexy, inviting posture. He is about to speak but she has nothing to say – what could she say? She pulls him towards her and into a deep kiss. She is  not real, none of this is real. They kiss deeper and their hands begin to explore in the darkness of the alley. She runs one hand through his hair, the other rubs his chest; he runs his hand up her thigh, slips the other inside her top. Feelings rush through her but none of them are real, nothing, but she loses herself in the deepness of their kiss and the softness of his touch. 

Time passes, they remain in the alley. It is almost closing time for the unders, soon the music will stop and their peers will leave the crowded dancefloor, the silence shattering their unity and they will pour outside. No-one will notice the two in the alley, pushed against the wall, realise what they are doing.

She gives herself to him completely in the alley. And for a short while everything goes away. She forgets she is not real, she does not matter and escapes in him, it does not matter that nothing matters and she forgets that the feelings making her gasp and sigh are not her own, her enjoyment and pleasure figments of someone else's imagination. She escapes and she forgets.

The older crowd begin to gather outside the bronze. More jaded and cynical than their younger counterparts, they have gone through the motions, attaching a post-ironic posturing to try and put a spin on things, to try and pretend that they don't come here for the comfort and familiarity, the constant – that whatever happens in their lives beyond their control they can come her and dance, lose themselves in a crowd and forget. As the girl and boy separate in the alley, she remembers.

He smiles and tells her his name. She tell him hers but wonders why she bothers. They exchange numbers but she will never call. Why should she attach herself to him? He seems nice and sweet and deserves better than her, a figment. He deserves someone real. And she is not real. But she is grateful that he helped her forget for a little bit, for the first time since she took the knife from the kitchen, she has felt something other than despair and loathing. And she is grateful. But she knows that her gratitude is not real. Her memories are not real. Her pain is not real, nor her despair or her loathing. What has happened in the alley is not real. She is empty, a carefully crafted shell. And none of this is real.


End file.
